


Amber

by TheMouthKing



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Crossdressing, Episode Related, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, a hint of ot4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-18 05:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14846984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMouthKing/pseuds/TheMouthKing
Summary: After filming the episode where they playWhat's My Face?, Link wants to play a different game with Rhett when they get back to their office — one they thought they'd outgrown.UPDATE:Prequel exists in chapter 3 ofGetting Busy.





	Amber

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to annabelle_leigh/usefulmammal ao3/tumblr for listening to me ramble incessantly about this idea, and for reading through it. (And the others who listened to me ramble about this and offered feedback. You know who you are.)
> 
> Additional BIG thanks to missingparentheses ao3/tumblr for betaing this, and for catching all my doubly used phrases and other dumb mistakes and nonsense. 
> 
> Y'all rock. :)

“Remember the first time we pretended I was a woman?” 

Link asks it so soft and so casual that it could damn near be missed, except that the tone of his voice is captivating. Rhett thinks it’s like when Jessie’s mad at the kids and she lowers her voice and talks softer, sterner. They know when she’s purposefully keeping that strange calm, that’s when they’re in real trouble. 

Rhett knows he’s in real trouble now. The same as he was in real trouble earlier, when they were filming the segment. Only worse, because when he turns, he sees that Link’s still wearing the curly blonde wig and makeup despite the fact that Rhett has long since washed his makeup off, but he's changed his clothes. But he isn’t just made up like a woman, he’s also _dressed_ like one. 

This feels like a targeted attack. One Rhett’s not confident he can escape unscathed.

Rhett falters, his gaze helplessly slipping from Link’s still made-up face down the length of his body. He’s wearing a sweater dress, this mustard yellow off the shoulder number that clings to the shape of his body and stops short enough to leave a stripe of bare thigh above knee-high chunky heeled boots. It's unsettling to have him so near his own height, damn close to squaring off with him, his gaze commanding Rhett to meet it. 

Wait, did Link shave his legs? God, Rhett can’t think past that point of information, keeps getting caught up in it. Where the hell did these clothes even come from?

“Link…” Rhett’s got to ask him if this is really something he wants to do because he knows where this is going. He’s pumping the brakes because he can here, because he couldn’t on set with the cameras rolling. He’d had to get control of his face and press on, recover from that left-field question -- _are you attracted to me, Rhett?_ \-- parry it with their usual brand of humor. He thinks, in retrospect, he’d done a pretty good job of it, but still he wonders. He plays it over and over in his mind, wondering how transparent he’d been. How obvious. 

He should have known it wasn’t over.

“What are you doing?” Rhett looks, sounds a little spooked, like he was afraid they were about to go somewhere they wouldn’t be able to find their way back from this time. 

They’d found their way back once before, but things are different now. There’s a gravity there hadn’t been before, a heaviness born from so many years of steadfastly refusing to dig down and look at what they’d done. What both of them still always wanted to do.

There’s also the fact that they hadn’t really dressed the part back then, either, and it has Rhett entirely thrown off guard. 

“I’m just askin’ you a question.” Link’s talking soft, dipping into that sweet southern lilt he puts on when he’s imitating a woman. 

How on earth could Link sound so calm? If Rhett didn’t know better, he’d guess that this didn’t matter to Link at all. But fortunately he does know better. If it meant nothing he wouldn't be here like this now, wouldn't have gone to the effort of dressing up. Rhett can see the cracks starting to form in the collected aura Link’s trying so hard to present, sees it in how he’s got his hands pressed to his sweater dress-clad thighs to stop them shaking. His hands often shake—that’s not necessarily a giveaway of nerves—but in this moment it must feel like that’s something that will betray him. Link can’t embrace that when he’s already leaning into so much vulnerability just by being here, dressed like this, asking these questions. 

Rhett falters and doesn’t answer, his gaze dropping back down Link’s body before he glances off toward the door of their shared office, like he’s thinking about escaping this conversation before he’s forced to show his hand.

But it seems that Link won’t be satisfied until the cards are on the table, because the second Rhett’s eyes are off him, Link repeats himself, refusing to be ignored. 

“It’s a yes or no question, Rhett. Do you remember the first time we played this game?” His lisp that much more prominent when he’s trying to sound feminine.

Had it been a game? Rhett’s focus is split in so many directions, pulled towards Link’s body, how he’d phrased the question about the first time, the insinuation being that they’re playing now, too. Rhett licks his lips subtly, he thinks, and finally gives a slow, careful nod like it’s the only concession he can afford. But then he keeps on. 

“Yeah,” Rhett says. He finds his voice, rough and dry like his lips still are, no amount of wetting them enough, “Yeah, I remember.”

Link can feel Rhett’s eyes on him. He can feel the desire and hunger in his gaze as much as he can tell how trapped Rhett feels. Link knows he’s not alone in this. This feeling has always been there, ever-present, but it’s easier to for him to let himself slip into when there’s a character, a wig, an excuse. It makes sense that it’s easier for him like this because it had been the thing that freed them to make a move that first time, learning on each other. Taking turns being the woman _just for practice, just pretend_. They hadn't had a wig then, but they'd always had overactive imaginations and they'd made do. 

It should seem silly now, certainly politically incorrect, but it had been enough distance from reality to let them look directly at this thing they’d both been steadfastly pretending they couldn't see. 

And today on set, Link asked him point blank. First, phrasing it like he was asking Rhett if he was attracted to the makeup, and then making it clear that he was asking exactly the opposite. Rhett had answered but hadn’t looked at him, and Link is all but certain that it wasn’t because it wasn’t true, but because he couldn’t control his expression if he said it to his face. That his best hope for playing it for the laugh was in looking askew. But now he needs to hear it. 

He needs to see it. 

“Are you attracted to me, Rhett?” Link asks, following the downward dip of Rhett’s gaze. It’s a weak effort to escape the spotlight Link’s got trained on him as he opens his mouth, stammering to answer, giving a little nod like he thinks he’ll get away with it. But Link won’t have that. The temptation is there to grab hold of Rhett’s bearded jaw and force him to look him in the eye as he answers, but he doesn’t touch him. Not yet. 

Instead, his voice goes even softer, more quietly commanding. “If it’s true, look at me and say it like you mean it.”

So help him if Rhett asks him _say what?_ again.

“I’m attracted to you.” Rhett’s voice is heavy with the weight of his words, with the meaning behind them. 

He’s not playing for the laugh this time. What is it about the makeup, about Link pretending he’s a woman, that makes this able to be said? Rhett wonders if the words are inherently easier to say to a woman. He wonders if it says something about him, about some internalized homophobia he still carries around side-by-side with this weighty desire and the love that’s kept their lives locked together these past thirty-four years.

Whatever’s true here is unknown to him, too far beneath the surface to see. All he knows is something moves in him when Link’s like this, when he’s soft and hard in turns, when he yields easy but makes demands. That something comes alive in him too when it’s his turn to sink into his version of the role, allowed to be pretty, to feel small. 

Link’s got his answer, though. It doesn’t matter that it’s been said like this, with the fact of the makeup, that this moment between them is happening _now_ and not after he’d washed it off. They may still need make-believe to be able to give in, but that doesn’t mean there hasn’t always been more to this than just pretend. Link felt it then and he thinks he can see it now, that the hunger in Rhett’s eyes here isn’t different than it is at other times when he’s dressed in normal clothes and he catches him stealing too long a look. 

So Link lets this go the way it used to, more or less, because he’s here in this makeup. Because pretending has always made it okay. Given them permission. 

“So how ‘bout you say my name, then,” Link coos as he moves in close, shaky fingers daring to dip up between the buttons of Rhett’s blue patterned shirt, the backs of his fingers brushing the smooth, still-hairless skin of Rhett’s belly. 

Rhett freezes at that question, for a split second not sure what it is Link’s looking for from him. All this talk of the way they used to practice on each other, their own version of playing pretend that they’d carried on too far from the start any and everywhere they could manage it has him thinking _that’s_ what Link wants to hear. But if he’s wrong, does this come to a grinding halt?

“Amber…” he breathes finally, still not quite sure he’s reading this right. 

Link’s answering smile, wide and toothy and full of promise, framed by that purple lipstick tells him he was right. 

That they’re playing. 

“That’s right. Did you miss me, baby?” Link asks, soft and sultry as he goes for the next button and the next, using the loose ends of Rhett’s shirt as handles to sway him on in closer. 

“Oh gosh, yes,” Rhett answers in a rush, yielding to the temptation to dip his head down and find how they line up now that Link’s a few inches taller, nearer to his own height than he's ever been. He buries face against Link’s neck and breathes him in, soft beard tickling over Link’s bare neck and shoulder, lips grazing his skin. 

Link’s still unbuttoning his shirt, touching whatever skin he can expose on the way up until he’s got his shirt open and starts tugging it off. Link’s not wasting any time in getting him undressed, and it’s so unlike the last time they found themselves playing this game, even if it was so long ago, that Rhett can’t help but comment on it. 

“What’s got into you…” Rhett asks. It hardly even comes out as a question, more just voicing his wonder as Link pushes his shirt off down his arms. Rhett’s shell-shocked, can’t help how he just stands there and stares dumbly down at Link in that mustard dress, at his own chest, now bare as Link steals into his space to finish stripping him down to skin. 

“Nothing yet,” Link’s answer is less a tease and more a promise. Or he hopes it is. It’s punctuated with a twinkle of blue eyes and flushed cheeks that threaten to betray him.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what direction this was headed, but Link’s response paints a pretty clear picture of just what it is he’s got in mind, and Rhett gapes at Link when the meaning of it clicks. His hands find their way to the smallest part of Link’s waist and down, rest against the slight swell of his hips. 

Rhett’s reeling, can’t help second guessing himself for taking Link’s response the way he had. He’s wondering what happened that has them revisiting this _now_ , as if he hasn’t had a front row seat for all the tension of the last twenty years. 

“This isn’t… you weren’t… you were so different…” Rhett can’t find the words to say what it is he means. That _last time_ Link hadn’t been so confident, so aggressive. So sure of what it was he’d wanted, and apparently willing to take it further than they ever had before.

“I’m not a shy girl anymore,” Link smiles slow as he edges further into Rhett’s space, hips swaying. It’s jarring to see him like this. It’s Link, but he’s so far into the character it’s unnerving. The way he moves, the way he smiles behind the makeup and those blonde curls, the way he holds his body comes off so feminine but still so _Link_ that Rhett can’t take his eyes off him. 

It’s intoxicating. 

“I’m grown now, and I know what I want.”

When Link says it, his hand slips down over Rhett’s bare chest and cups between his legs, gives a solid squeeze through his jeans that answers the question of what he’s after, like it isn’t already obvious. 

He wants Rhett, and he’s got a mind to get what he wants. 

The moan that escapes Rhett is anything but dignified, and the further Link gets into the role he's playing, the easier it comes. The bolder he gets. He's palming Rhett through his jeans and using the hold he's got on him to walk the taller man backwards towards the wide leather sofa behind him. When Rhett’s calves bump against the it and he doesn't immediately sit, Link lets go of his dick and gives his shoulders a gentle push until he sits down heavily. 

Link only waits a beat after Rhett’s ass hits the leather to follow him with one high heeled boot between Rhett's slightly spread thighs, pressing the ball of his right foot against the cock now straining at the front of his jeans. God, where has this come from? Link’s not even sure that he knows, but he couldn’t possibly put the brakes on this now to find out, not unless it seems like he’s crossing the line. Unless it seems like Rhett’s not right here with him every step of the way as they venture into this new territory. 

“Oh, fuck,” Rhett hisses, his head falling back against the sofa while still trying to keep his eyes on Link. He’s still here, keeping pace with Link as they explore this together, eyes following up to drink the length of his body in, from the lace-up leather boots to the hint of pale pink lace peeking from under his dress, all the way to his smoldering blue eyes. It’s all too much, and if there’s a line to cross, they’ve crossed it together without looking back. Rhett hadn’t had a chance from the very second Link walked into the office. 

“Now you’ve got it,” Link murmurs, as if Rhett hasn’t caught on yet what it is he’s after. He’s still rubbing at the front of Rhett’s jeans with his foot, adding an edge of friction to the pressure. Keeps it going until he’s certain he can feel Rhett’s cock swell beneath his toes through denim and the sole of his boot, until he’s satisfied.Then he pulls his foot away. 

Hands smooth up his thighs to his hips, then, inching that short skirt up as he moves to crawl into Rhett’s lap, straddling him. The closer he gets, the higher up his skinny hips that dress rides, giving another glimpse of the lace beneath and the hard cock straining against it.

Link rolls his hips against Rhett’s slowly, fitting their bodies together as he leans in closer, hands braced on Rhett’s shoulders, on the back of the sofa, wherever he can hold onto that’ll give him leverage to move. To tease. 

“I’ve got a wife now…” Rhett hates himself for going there, but he needs to have the conversation, or at least, have it the way they do. Halfway and with the rest unspoken, understood. If it goes badly enough that it ends up stopping this, then they shouldn’t be going here in the first place. He just knows he can’t carry on without knowing where this stands.

“Mmm… so do I,” Link says as he shifts his hips, rubbing himself shamelessly against the hard shape of Rhett tented against the denim of his jeans, starting to find a rhythm of friction and need. 

“She doesn't mind you messin’ around with a man?” Rhett asks, his voice dipping low as Link keeps on moving against him with that seductive slow grind of his hips. 

“...she knows sometimes I need to be fucked in ways she just can't.”

The expression on Rhett's face looks like he's short-circuiting, like the combination of the way they’re moving and being confronted suddenly with the fantasy of Link as a woman who’s married to another woman _who’s comfortable with the idea of sharing_ , even if it’s just a layer of the game, is too much to handle. Hell, even just the reality of it, of Link as himself talking to Christy about needing this is more than he ever thought he’d hear in his lifetime. 

“She bought me this dress. Do you like it?” Link asks, catching Rhett’s hands and guiding them back up to his hips, inviting him to touch. Hoping he’ll take the hint and peel the dress off. “She said I couldn’t wear a graphic tee and skinny jeans if I was gonna try and seduce you again…”

Rhett’s head is spinning, lost in the realization that Link was really here with Christy’s blessing, even when the truth was Jessie had told him long ago that if the opportunity came again, he should take it without hesitation if he wanted to. And _oh_ , but he wanted to. 

But, _again_. That means Link had told her about the first time and the handful of times after that. How it had unfolded so many years ago, the two of them taking turns pretending to be a woman, to be Amber. That each of them had been other’s first kiss, first touch, first everything. 

“Again?”

“Mm, yeah… don’t even try and play like you haven’t told Jessie,” Link says as he leans in, breathes the words against Rhett’s ear. “She helped me pick out my lingerie, you know… told me this was your favorite color.”

Rhett’s attention dips down again to the peek of dusty pink lace that’s barely containing Link’s cock. As if on cue, Link tugs the sweater dress up enough to show off more than a hint of those panties as well as the full expanse of his torso and a flash of matching lacy bra. The look on Rhett’s face says that surprise was a very welcome one, and Link’s all lit up with elation at the tease of it. 

It’s more than Rhett can take, between the weight of Link in his lap and the tease of lace, not to mention the awareness that Jessie helped pick it out, that their wives both knew about their past, the full truth of it unedited. He’s imagining Link trying it on for Christy to get her opinion after getting Jessie’s input on color.

Rhett’s hands are heavy on Link’s little waist, his hips, tugging the hem of that dress up so his fingers can play over the soft stretch of lace panties hugging his ass. Dipping under the elastic band like he’s thinking of peeling them down unceremoniously before he’s even got the dress off.

Link isn’t making that desire any easier to resist with what he says next. 

“Feel how wet you make me…” 

Link’s still trying to be a tease, still holding on to the upper hand, but his grasp is tenuous. The further they go into this, the harder it is to stay upright, the closer he is to falling apart. He wants to get fucked, but he’s afraid Rhett won’t figure it out unless he lays it out explicitly. Afraid that Rhett won’t be there to catch him if he lets himself give in to what he needs. But he should have known, trusted that somehow Rhett always knows how to be there for him. 

They've always been too close. The joke is that they’re brothers, but what it feels like is soulmates. Feels like Rhett's his right hand and he’s Rhett’s left, the part of him that was missing before they'd met. Like his presence brings a balance, a safety and comfort, and an answer to this clawing need to be whole. 

Rhett doesn’t need to be told twice. The second those words are out of Link’s mouth, Rhett’s hand dives down between skin and lace to obey. He’s not sure why he’s surprised when his fingers slide down between his cheeks and he finds him slick and slippery already, but he is. 

Link had done that. 

He'd prepared himself, come in here like this, wet and ready and with the intention to seduce him. With a plan for how he’d wanted this to go. The premeditation of it takes his breath away when, for twenty years, they’ve danced around what they’d almost had once, pretending in turns that it hadn’t ever happened and that it never could again. Now, it's more than an invitation, and every last shred of Rhett's hesitation and self-control is stripped away. 

“Fuck.” Rhett's not one to swear unless he means it. Unless he's got a real good reason to. He does now, letting his finger slowly sink knuckle deep into Link, watching the way he reacts to each pressing centimeter of that single digit. Link squirms in his lap like he's riding something _else_ , something thicker.

The way Link moves is fitful, fretting, back arched and trying any and everything in his power to get that thick-but-not-thick-enough finger to hit him somewhere satisfying. Link would have his fists twisted up in Rhett's shirt if he was still wearing it, instead he's holding on to his shoulders _tight._

Rhett's never seen him like this. Or maybe he has, but it was so long ago and never quite like this, so pronounced, so shameless. Link's grinding down against his hand, his finger, eager for more, for friction, for any drop of real satisfaction he can manage to eke out of the moment. 

There's a flush seeping up Link’s neck and into his cheeks, gone ruddy with how much he needs this. It's more than physical arousal and response; this is need he's harbored for years. This is a moment he's played in his mind again and again when he fingered himself alone in the shower. 

They'd never done this back then, never this nor what he’s angling for. They’d never _fucked,_ but the sheer force of his desire for it sometimes almost made it feel like they had. Like if he could just recall the right combination of memory and fantasy, he could bring this to reality. 

He needs Rhett's finger inside him, thicker than his own. Needs a second so it feels like his own pushing towards three, needs a third, needs enough to make him ache to be fucked properly. Lips parted, he asks for it, except he doesn't ask. He reaches back and takes hold of Rhett's hand by the wrist, fingertips stroking down the shapes of the back of his hand, over his fingers, willing Rhett to know what he means. 

And, thank God, he does. He knows and he gives it, sinking two and then three fingers into Link slowly, taking his time while the smaller man rides them and starts to come unraveled. Rhett wants another view of this, wants a monitor to the right he can check for another angle, wants to watch Link’s thighs as they flex, as he grinds and works himself down greedily against his hand.

In an instant, it’s like a switch has been flipped for the both of them. The tease has gone on long enough and Link needs to get out of the dress at the exact moment Rhett’s decided it has to go, that he needs him naked. Needs his own pants pushed down, needs _access_. They’re rushing to make it happen without a single word exchanged between them, Link fishing his arm out of the sleeve as Rhett goes to tug it up and off over his head. It leaves Link’s hand free to keep his wig from being pulled off or askew. They’re bound to lose it before they’re through, but Link’s not ready for the game to end just yet. 

With the dress on the floor, Rhett can see that this time, Link hadn’t gone much further north than shaving his legs. He’s taken care to trim everywhere else from what he can tell, salt and pepper chest hair peeking out from under the pink lace of the matching bralette. That fact needs more appreciation, needs more attention than he’s got to spare right now, and he has this wild feeling that somehow too much is happening for him to remember it all in detail. He sweeps his fingertips over one nipple through the lace, fabric grazing over his skin and coarse hair as it moves, earning a shiver.

Rhett had been fighting this. God, why has he been fighting it? He knows why, knows he'd needed the conversation, the little bit of give and take. Needed to know this was above board for Link, that it wasn't a rash decision, but one he'd considered. One he'd discussed with his wife. With everything on the table, it feels possible to let go, to give in to this gravity between them that’s been drawing them ever closer. 

With permission, his hands move over Link’s body, hungry to feel his strength and his skin beneath his palms. The pale lace of those indecent panties catch against his sweat-damp fingers as they move over his skinny hips. 

Rhett’s waging war with himself between slow and fast, between taking his time here to make up for all the years they’d spent at arm’s length even while they sat elbow-to-elbow, and diving in headfirst. He wants to take it slow, wants to let his hands linger over Link where his body has changed since they were teenagers, where he’s broader and firmer than he remembered him, new but not. He’s witnessed it, seen it plenty over the years, touched him casually both on and off the show, but he hasn’t had permission to let those touches linger since the last time they played Amber. But eighteen was so many years ago and slow isn’t in the cards right now. 

Link’s impatient, and impatience brings out the worst in him. Makes him immovable and demanding, and now it has him crashing into Rhett, kissing his mouth with the full force of this barely contained need. Link needs more than what he’s getting, more than Rhett’s hands on him, big and heavy as they are, hot like a brand. Link needs more, and so he takes what Rhett’s slow to give until it comes unbidden, grabs at his wrists and puts his hands where he wants them until the tide begins to turn. Until Rhett’s taking the lead, until his hands begin to guide Link where he wants him. 

Rhett has this thought that they should move to the floor or spread out on the sofa, but as Link kisses him like he’s trying to devour him, moving feels out of the question. Losing more clothes feels tedious, he just can’t think that many steps ahead. Rhett can tug Link’s panties out of the way, maybe he can just shove his jeans down and out of the way. _It’s gonna have to do_ , he thinks, because more effort than that feels impossible. 

Rhett lets go of Link’s hips, stops holding him in place and enforcing that heavy grind to slip a hand between them to undo his jeans, and Link keens into the kiss at the loss even though he can feel the hard press of Rhett’s knuckles grazing his cock through the lace. Unzipping is taking too long because of the awkward angle and how in-the-way-close Link is, so Link rushes to help, more hands in the tight space between them making for more difficult work rather than speeding up the process.

“Let me,” Link says, as his shaky hands move over Rhett’s to try and undo the zip. 

“I’ve got it,” Rhett answers, voice husky and low, and he’s trying to maneuver his long fingers in the zero space he’s allotted, fighting against Link’s hands and the weight of his body leaning heavy on his. 

“Hurry up, come _on_ ,” Link’s impatient to get his hands on Rhett’s dick. 

“You’re making it harder,” Rhett complains, but instantly realizes his slip. He tries like hell to bite back the laugh that threatens to bubble up and for a second he manages it, swallows it down, the only evidence that gives him away his round cheeks. But when Link erupts with giddy laughter that bounces the blonde ringlet curls of the wig he’s still wearing, Rhett can’t hold back his snort of amusement. 

But neither of them have anything else say after that because they’re faltering as the huffing rhythm of their laughter bumps them closer together, Rhett still laughing when Link’s mouth collides with his. They’re falling together and pushing the clothes out of the way they can’t spare the time to lose entirely.

The instant Rhett’s pushed his jeans and underwear down just far enough to free his cock, Link’s got his hands on him. There’s no pretense here like there was back then. Back then, it was about learning how to be with a woman, how to kiss, how to slow down. How to hold back. This is so far removed from that. This is a hundred miles an hour without a glance spared for the rear view. It’s headlong and hands first, touching anywhere they can reach because close isn’t close enough. 

Rhett stutters in the middle of an action and halts, the thought of what he'd been about to do next escaping him entirely at the feel of Link’s large warm hand wrapped around his cock. 

But Rhett finds his way back. On auto-pilot, his hands move heavily over Link’s slim body, fingers twisting up in that dusty pink lace panty until it’s so rucked up it barely covers or contains him. Until he’s exposed and vulnerable, accessible. Link’s breathing hard and heavy at the reality of this, so much better than anything his mind could hope to supply him in those quiet stolen moments. 

Shifting, Link leans to dip long fingers into his left boot, fishing around like he had an itch or had lost something. Rhett’s about to comment when Link comes back with a tube of lube that he’d stashed there, the lube he’d used to prepare himself before he’d come in here. He doesn’t waste time in spreading some over his palm and stroking it over Rhett’s cock, basking the low, answering groan from Rhett that earns him. He’s never done this before, but he knows enough to know that they need more than the lube he’s prepared himself with. 

It’s hard to say whether Rhett guides him down again or if Link takes back the lead because their bodies are moving like they’re magnetic, clumsy but drawn together. They move through false starts, searching for how they fit together. Rhett’s cock bumps and nudges up between his thighs, against the bunched lace still clinging to him and dragging wetly against his skin as Link shifts to try and line them up. 

“Are you ready?”

Link can’t believe Rhett seriously just asked him that question. It strikes him so funny that he’s asking that _now_ , when the two of them are tangled up in each other and trying desperately to find their way to closer that he can’t help but laugh, high and wild, leaning in close to press his forehead to Rhett’s sweaty face. He knows the heavy makeup he’s wearing is going to smear, but he doesn’t honestly give a fuck. Rhett’s already wearing smudges of purple lipstick around his mouth. The both of them are well on their way to being utterly wrecked in the wake of this. 

“Ye-ah,” he draws out the word, a mix of amusement and arousal in his voice, too far gone to mock Rhett properly for this now. That’ll have to wait till after, when all this wound up need is gone and he’s settling back into his bones. When he’s done melting into Rhett’s skin and starts to disentangle himself, to find the borders between their bodies again. Right now he’s riding a single-minded need to lose himself in Rhett, to get so close there’s nothing left between them, no space, no air keeping them apart. 

It’s awkward, and the combination of their age and long limbs and odd angles means it takes a few tries before Link can start to sink down on him, and Rhett’s grasping himself to hold steady as he does. 

Link eases himself into it, feels the head of Rhett’s cock sink inside him and groans softly. That’s such a new feeling. Nothing he’s ever done has felt like this, his own fingers not even close. It’s almost overwhelming, but he wants this too much to stop. So he takes it slow, lets himself sink down more and then a little more each time he raises himself up, strong thighs flexed taut before he sinks back down slow. Rhett’s head hits the back of the sofa again, staring up at Link’s tense face, transfixed and so keyed up. 

Rhett’s gotta move even though he knows he has to be still, needs to let Link take it the way he needs it. This pent up energy has to go somewhere though, so he gets it out in touching, lets it bleed out through his palms. Sweaty and reverent, they caress up Link’s strong thighs, smooth over his hips and sides, touching him like worship. 

There’s something filthy about fucking half-clothed, Rhett with his jeans shoved down and Link with his panties yanked to the side, bralette and boots still on. 

It gets easier to take. Link relaxes into the clumsy rhythm they’re setting, trusts Rhett not to do anything he can’t handle. Link hasn’t had those broad hands on him like this in so long and _God_ , he’d missed it, how it felt like he touched him everywhere all at once, the rough drag of his guitar string calloused fingertips skimming his skin. 

Once or twice Link loses it, too enthusiastic to be careful, and he raises himself up too much and Rhett slips out and together they groan at the loss, Rhett rushing to help them find each other again, his hand between their bodies.

Neither of them are very quiet, and there's a very real risk of being caught, but that does nothing to silence them. Link groans out every inch he takes, the stretch and satisfaction of it. Not too long ago, it was his own fingers inside himself, spreading himself open, _not enough._ Boldness or desperation had lead him here, the makeup just a catalyst. A reminder of all the times they'd played _Amber_ that last summer before college. 

Link remembers every time they'd practiced on each other, distinctly. How many times he was Amber and how many times Rhett was. He remembers every detail of it, every sun-soaked moment along Cape Fear spent taking it slow, exploring the depths of what this game let them access. The things their real lives could never let them acknowledge. But in all of that exploration, this was one thing they’d never dared to try. They’d been too young, too inexperienced to go for something like this. 

Maybe even then, with their thinking all muddled from their upbringing as it was, they understood instinctually that this was more serious than they were ready for at eighteen. 

Rhett’s hand moves down Link’s back to his ass and fingertips find the place where they’re connected, where he disappears inside of Link. He feels it beneath his fingertips as they move, the mess of lube and the slow drag of his cock every time Link brings himself up with hands braced heavily on Rhett’s shoulders, or down as he relaxes, takes it all in. 

Finally, Link’s able to sink down enough that their bodies are pressed together flush and he lets out this low, bone-deep sound of satisfaction like the air’s been punched out of his lungs, to feel something so deep inside of him. To feel _Rhett_ so deep inside him, thick and hard and pressing right where he needed it. Link can’t think, can’t focus on anything but the way it feels to be so full. Head tipped back and eyes closed, he’s just subtly shifting his hips, chasing a slowly building grind that’s sending shivers down his spine, pooling low in his belly. 

“God, you feel so good,” Link breathes as he reaches out for Rhett, to find him, like he’d lost him. His hand connects, lays in the center of Rhett’s freckled chest, but what he wants is his hand. What he needs is to be held, the reassurance that Rhett’s there, as if he’s not aware of it from how solid and real he feels beneath him. It doesn’t matter; he always reaches out for Rhett when he’s overwhelmed, seeking the comfort that comes with taking Rhett’s hand and squeezing tight. No one else would know what he wanted because he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even reached for Rhett’s hand, but Rhett knows it like instinct. Taking Link’s hand from his chest he holds it in his, fingers lacing, automatic. 

Link takes Rhett’s other hand, then, and with all their fingers laced, he leans forward and pins Rhett’s hands back against the sofa and holds him there, right where he wants him. He can’t help himself, he’s grinning as he leans in, giddy and so worked up. He kisses Rhett hard and rolls his hips harder, crashes into Rhett like waves on the shore, again and again, building harder and faster. 

“Oh fuck,” Rhett gasps in a moment that Link comes up for air, overwhelmed. He’s moving too, hips meeting Link’s as he rocks into him, squeezing Link’s hands tight in his. Link’s not the only one who needs a hand to hold to carry him through this.

 _“Yeah,”_ Link murmurs encouragement or acknowledgement to Rhett. He’s getting close, and the closer he gets, he’s curling in on himself. Curling in on Rhett, he buries his face against his neck, and slowly he disentangles his hands from Rhett’s, braces against the sofa instead, needs the different angle to keep moving the way he needs to. 

But Rhett needs to kiss him again, and a hand dives up into his hair, expecting to rake through his short salt and pepper hair, surprised to find his fingers tangling up in the loose blonde curls of the wig. He tugs it off, then, tosses it, needs to find _Link_ underneath it. Rhett curls his fingers in the hair at the back of his head and pulls him into a kiss as Link keeps on moving, riding him like he isn’t close enough yet because close enough doesn’t exist. Link can’t do two things at once without one thing suffering, and as he gets drawn into the kiss, the motion between them stutters and falters. He croaks a frustrated moan, and tries to pick it back up but he can’t manage to do both to save his soul.

“Damnit,” Link grunts when he pulls back. He’d be more annoyed with Rhett’s answering chuckle at yet another piece of evidence in the mounting case against his lack of multitasking ability, but he can’t bring himself to feel anything other than a gripping need to come. In that moment, he gives up trying to kiss Rhett in favor of focusing on that, on moving, on chasing that feeling that’s rising in him. 

There’s no more pretense here. Link’s not Amber anymore. That’s all been stripped away, the last of it lost with the wig or the laughter or the way they folded into each other like they’d been made to fit together. 

This is Rhett and Link fucking on the sofa in their office. 

Truth be told, it stopped being Link and Amber or Rhett and Amber a long time before they’d stopped using practice as an excuse. Things got too real to ignore and yet they had, pretending neither of them noticed when everything started to slip so far out of control. Pretending it hadn’t happened when the would-be practice session ended up with gasped cries of real names, hands heavy and searching and touching with the intention of getting off rather than just the thinly veiled excuse of learning what to do.

They never talked about it, but it hadn’t ever been about practicing at all, for either of them. It’s always been just the two of them. It had always been Rhett and Link, so desperate for a chance to mess around together that they’d been willing to make up excuses just to get their hands on each other. And they’d kept it up as long as they thought they could get away with it. Long enough that there was no way to go back, no way to talk about the reality under the game. They’d been avoiding looking at reality for so long that the only way out of it was through. 

His graying hair is wild and clinging to his face, sweaty and messy from being trapped beneath the now gone wig, and Link looks like something else entirely. Some divine in-between of man and woman, flushed skin and smeared lipstick, soft pink lace and broad shoulders. Rhett can’t get enough, can’t stop looking and drinking him in as he chases his release. Rhett watches his face twist in frustration and need, in _almost but not quite,_ and Rhett’s hand moves between them to grab hold of Link and stroke him, to help him get there. 

To watch him fall apart.

It doesn’t take much and Link comes, gasping for air and half-swearing under his breath but unable to form the words, unable to think and come at the same time, barely able to keep breathing as his climax takes him over. He feels like he’s pouring out of his body and he’s certain he’ll be lost and unable to find his way back in, but that doesn’t happen. 

Rhett’s got a hold of him. He carries on stroking him to carry him through, and then his arms wrap around him tight to envelop him, hold him crushingly close to his chest as he tries to catch his breath, not yet settled back in his skin. 

Rhett buries his face against Link’s neck, nose against his sweat-damp skin, and breathes him in, the warm scent of his body overwhelming his senses. He’s not in his right mind when he drags his tongue over that salty skin to trace his collarbone, licking upwards towards the sharp line of his jaw, leaving a sucking kiss beneath his ear.

Link’s in the midst of aftershocks that startle through his body intermittently, overwhelmed and overstimulated but nowhere near ready to move away when Rhett comes inside him without warning. The subtle squirming of Link riding out his dying orgasm had been enough, _more than,_ as he squirmed and rocked into Rhett slower, moved by the softening sensations ebbing and dying through him.

Link holds him tight as he comes, long arms locked around Rhett’s shoulders to hold him steady, each of them clinging to the other like they were the anchor that kept them tied to shore. 

It’s a long time spent coming down in silence before either of them speaks, and it’s Rhett who does first.

“...Hey, Link?”

“Yeah?” Link murmurs tiredly.

“I like your boots.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for liking, commenting and subscribing. :)


End file.
